Cracked

The dirt road undulated below my feet as I walked around the lake. Fresh rainwater had puddled in the troughs, and I had to step carefully in sections that were peppered with the mirrored holes. As the dirt gave way to pavement, the crests were highlighted by cracking of the surface.

Frost heaves. Continue reading

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Won’t you be my neighbor?

My mom has a way of making any intersection of concrete car paths that surround wooden domiciles into a neighborhood. Every place we’ve lived, she’s drawn people from their homes and connected them with the other unknown hermits living next door. After these block parties, no longer were houses filled with faceless bodies, but with folks who shared holiday recipes and lawn care tips. Continue reading